


Wolf At Heart

by jaskiersvalley (connorssock), Siwucha



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Knotting, M/M, Muzzles, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, Werewolf Jaskier, Werewolf Sex, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:08:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25039024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/connorssock/pseuds/jaskiersvalley, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siwucha/pseuds/Siwucha
Summary: It was bad luck that Jaskier got bitten by a werewolf. It was even worse luck that he got turned. A witcher's task was to rid the world of monsters but Geralt never could see Jaskier as such, no matter his form. It didn't stop him from promising to put an end to things if Jaskier got out of control.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 22
Kudos: 496
Collections: Geraskier Midsummer Mini Bang





	Wolf At Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of the Geraskier Midsummer Mini Bang. The absolutely stunning art is by Siwucha, make sure to give them lots of love in the comments!

Monsters came and went. Well, they usually went by the way of Geralt’s sword but sometimes they could be persuaded to move onto fields anew where their kind didn’t cause an affront to humans. Rarely some humans would buck the trend and actually work with the sentient monster to work out some beneficial living arrangement for all. That was the result Geralt was hoping for when he went after an alleged werewolf. It was a full moon, there was not a lot they could do for the pains of changing, but if Geralt could at least keep the monster occupied for a few days while the moon started to wane, they could work something out for the next month.

The werewolf’s name was Doneal Baird allegedly. He’d been cursed some four months ago and had been progressively getting more and more violent with each change, his wolf nature winning out over the human side. Breaking curses wasn’t exactly Geralt’s forte but he could always try and corral the werewolf to uninhabited places until he turned human again. Of course Jaskier tagged along, happy to witness the heroics of his Witcher.

Neither of them expected the werewolf to find them at sundown. It came snarling and snapping through the underbrush, already wild despite not even being fully transformed. Geralt barely had time to push Jaskier out of the way and draw his sword before the werewolf was rounding on them again. As the sun finally disappeared behind the horizon, it let out an ear shattering howl and charged again, just as Jaskier was picking himself up off the floor. Down he went once again with a pained cry. However, Geralt couldn’t spare time and attention on that, not when he had a rabid werewolf intent on slaughtering them.

Sometimes, there was nothing that could be done, no amount of goodwill could save a monster. Doneal had entered the realms beyond hope, bloodthirsty and impossible to subdue, relentless in his attacks. The plan to distract him wasn’t sustainable and Geralt did the only thing he could, the kindest for all concerned. A short but brutal fight later, the werewolf lay dead at his feet.

Heaving for breath, he only just about managed to hear the panicked “Geralt!” over his panting. Immediately, his eyes were on Jaskier who was still on his back, hands coated in blood, doublet torn and soaked.

“Oh fuck. Geralt.” Jaskier’s voice was strangled with pain and terror, shaking as blood pooled around him from a deep bite to his shoulder.

Usually, Geralt would brush it off as an annoyance, werewolf bites rarely transmitted the infection, turning those bitten into werewolves themselves. But, in the moonlight where the blood looked black, Geralt could see Jaskier. His heaving chest, usually covered in hair, was now looking more like a carpet, the blue of his eyes visible around slitted pupils, hands clawed.

“Help me, please.”

The plea cut Geralt to the core. There was nothing he could do, the transformation taking place in front of his eyes, bones snapping, muscles tearing and reshaping as Jaskier’s scream turned into a howl. Where his bard had been sat a giant, russet wolf with blue eyes. It cast one look at the witcher and took off, charging through the undergrowth.

“Jaskier! Wait!” Geralt’s call went unheeded and he cursed. Breaking camp, he spent the next three days and nights looking for Jaskier, but the wolf seemed intent on not being found.

On the fourth day, Geralt stumbled upon a naked and shivering Jaskier laying miserably by a stream. It seemed that while a wolf, Jaskier had excellent hearing and awareness of his surroundings but back in human form, he was as helpless as ever. Sitting down on the ground heavily, Geralt offered up a blanket, ignoring the streaks of dirt and blood coating Jaskier. It made the tear tracks so much easier to see on his cheeks.

“You might as well slay me now,” Jaskier said, voice a thick croak and nothing like the light tinkling of his usual self. “I’m a monster. I’ll give you all my coin as payment if you will only take me as a job rather than make a mercy killing.”

The tears were starting up again and Geralt could only watch helplessly, more used to being the cause of tears than stopping them. However, he could do one thing, which was to put Jaskier right. “I’m not going to kill you.”

“But you saw Doneal. Saw the monster he had become. I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

The contemplative hum Geralt offered was of little comfort, and Jaskier’s tears didn’t stop. So he had to find words, but that was easier in thought than practice because there was no guarantee that Jaskier wouldn’t become a bloodthirsty killer. No matter how sweet and harmless he appeared, Geralt could remember the cold blooded way his first wish had been for someone’s death when he thought he had control of the djinn. There was a certain dark streak underlying the deceptive innocence and sunshine Jaskier projected to the world and that streak could well be made worse by the wolf issue.

“If you get out of control, I will put you down,” he said in the end, blunt and to the point as always. “Until then, get dressed. We need to go back to the village, let them know Doneal will not be returning. And we need to get you some wolfsbane.”

Once the initial shock of the transformation had worn off and Jaskier was bathed, wound healed into a silvery scar thanks to the nature of the bite, and he was dressed in his usual clothes again, things didn’t seem nearly as awful. It was just three days and nights of being a wolf. A strange habit of humanity was their ability to forget pain and Jaskier knew that the transformation was agonising but, in hindsight, it didn’t seem as awful.

Geralt had never spent time with a werewolf before. Not in such close quarters as he was with Jaskier. And really, after the shock and horror of that first transformation, things returned to how they used to be. Geralt hunted monsters while Jaskier sang. They were still a team, still skirting around feelings which were made all the more complicated by the promise that Geralt would kill Jaskier if it came to that. So, the two of them did what they did best, stuck their heads in the sand, pretended everything was fine, and there were no feelings to discuss or act upon between them.

Three days before the full moon, Geralt handed Jaskier a vial with a blank look. He’d managed to make up some wolfsbane potion and hoped it would ease at least a little of the agony that was to come. The fear and despair he saw in Jaskier’s eyes broke his heart.

“Could we get away from civilisation please?”

There was so much encompassed in that question and Geralt could only nod. He would take Jaskier as far as he could, away from settlements, far from farms and anywhere he could be a danger to others. They had three days to travel, they could make it work.

For his part, Jaskier downed the potion and gagged, the bitter flavour lingered in his throat and he coughed, trying to keep it down. A hand on his back was the only thing that helped and he whimpered, tears wetting his lashes already.

“I don’t want to change. I never asked for this!”

For his part, there was nothing Geralt could really do other than keep his hand where it was. He wished he could take the pain away, could free Jaskier of his fate. But, as it wasn’t a curse, there was nothing to break. There were rumours that true love could restore Jaskier to fully human but those were fairy tales and Geralt didn’t believe in them. Instead, he let out a sympathetic “hm” and offered Jaskier a handkerchief to wipe his eyes and blow his nose.

As they say, change is inevitable. Unfortunately, it also applied to werewolves and, as the moon rose, Jaskier whined in the back of his throat. At Geralt’s suggestion, he was naked, hugging his legs to his chest and desperately hoping that if he tucked his face against his knees, the moon wouldn’t affect him. Sadly, he was wrong.

Even from the distance Geralt had given Jaskier, he could hear the snap of bone and rip of muscle. The potions he’d given Jaskier hardly seemed to make a difference. Maybe his screams weren’t quite as desperate but that could have been resignation rather than less agony. Once it was all finally over, Geralt stood opposite a panting wolf that took off into the forest with a whine.

Months passed and Jaskier seemed reluctant to show his wolf form to Geralt. He was convinced it was hideous, out of control, dangerous. The last thing he wanted was to turn back to his human form to find Geralt’s remains next to him and a full belly. So Jaskier ran. He could hear Geralt behind him, and his scent was difficult to miss too. The Witcher had an odour that was best described as rancid danger. But Jaskier sought comfort in it, knew that if it came to it, that would be the last thing he ever smelled.

What he didn’t expect was for something to interrupt their chase. The first Jaskier knew of it was the screech and the pained gasp from Geralt. Obviously he’d been taken off guard too and the harpy had happily decided to exact revenge. It didn’t take Jaskier more than a fraction of a second to change direction. In an instant he was upon the creature, sharp teeth sinking into the rancid flesh. Hefty paws pushed her down and two more ripping bites later the harpy was dead.

Muzzle covered in blood, Jaskier came back to himself, mind drowned out by the frenzy of protecting Geralt. He stared down at the harpy in horror and backed away from the body.

“Jaskier,” the soft call of his name made him look up and whine. He didn’t want Geralt to see him like this, a beast, a killer, out of control. Another whine left his throat and he took off, ignoring Geralt’s curses and attempts to follow him.

He didn’t return to Geralt’s side even when he changed back. Despite being human again, smells were still strong, he could hear Geralt in the woods and he slinked away, trying to avoid his Witcher. Shame and disgust kept him away - he had disappointed Geralt, proven all his deepest fears. Jaskier was an out of control beast and nothing more.

It was Geralt who tracked down Jaskier in the end. As a human, he was a lot easier to find than as a wolf. What surprised Geralt was the fact that he ended up following Jaskier to a small town. Nothing too large but big enough to have a blacksmith and a leatherworker which seemed to be the only two shops he visited, opting to sleep in the surrounding woods and away from the town.

“Jaskier?” Geralt asked as he approached, hesitant and slow as though he was nearing a skittish horse.

“I thought I had a few days more.” The reply made no sense but Jaskier’s watery eyes meant Geralt didn’t bother asking. Instead, he settled on the ground next to Jaskier and was surprised when his companion shuffled closer and shyly pressed against him, seeking comfort like a wolf would rather than Jaskier’s usual brand of interaction. Replying in kind, Geralt wrapped an arm around him and they just sat there in silence, allowing the world to pass them by.

After who knew how long, Jaskier shifted away. There were tear tracks down his cheeks and Geralt’s hadn’t realised that his bard had been crying softly, without giving anything away.

“It should be ready,” Jaskier said as he stood up. Rather than ask, Geralt was content to follow him back into the town. No doubt his questions would be answered anyway if he kept by Jaskier’s side.

People steered clear of them, whispering and avoiding their gaze. It was something Geralt was used to but he feared for Jaskier. When it wasn’t a full moon his affliction wasn’t obvious but maybe he had told people. It didn’t matter, they would be out of the town soon and back on the road, leaving the judgemental townsfolk behind for good.

They ended up in the leatherworks shop and Jaskier knocked gently on the counter to get the seller’s attention. She bustled out of the backroom and, one look later, she turned to reach for an item under the table. A metal muzzle with leather straps and padding was brought into view.

“This for him?” She asked, nodding towards Geralt. Usually, Jaskier would have been outraged by the assumption but this time he simply shook his head, too tired to argue.

“Geralt doesn’t bite.”

He emptied a pouch of coin onto the counter and took the muzzle, clutching tightly as he walked out. They kept going, straight out of the town and on the road without a real destination. As the sun set and Roach got restless, they ended up in a clearing and finally Jaskier pushed the muzzle into Geralt’s hands.

“Could you keep it safe until full moon?”

Taking the muzzle, Geralt finally got a good look at it. Definitely well made, enough of a gap to be able to drink and eat through it but sturdy enough that no matter what, Jaskier wouldn’t be able to bite anyone. At a guess, the straps that kept it in place would be tight enough and placed in a way that knocking the muzzle off would be, if not impossible, a lot of hard work - more than enough to give people an opportunity to run to safety.

The timing of the muzzle couldn’t have been better. It was still two weeks until the next full moon so it was easy enough to forget and Jaskier seemed a little less haunted. They moved from village to village, he sang and played while Geralt took any available contracts. As the full moon approached, Jaskier got more withdrawn until Geralt took the executive decision and led them into the wilderness where nobody could witness his shame.

As the moon rose, Geralt handed Jaskier the muzzle and stepped back, out of reach. He could only watch as, resigned, Jaskier pulled the buckles tight just as the first of the moonlight hit his skin. The wolfsbane did little to help with the pain of transformation and Jaskier’s screams turned to howls just as before. However, this time, muzzled as he was, Jaskier didn’t run. Instead, like a beaten dog, he bellycrawled to Geralt’s feet and whined, tail tucked in but wagging just a little in hope. It was pitiful and Geralt could feel his heart breaking but he sat down and let Jaskier pull himself into his lap with small whimpers. His fur was thick and Geralt found himself brushing through it, trying to offer any comfort he could.

It was, perhaps, the most comfortable transformation Jaskier had ever had. There was no running through the woods, no chasing Geralt so he couldn’t take off after anyone else, no exhausting loops of the forest. Together, they stayed in the clearing, even Roach didn’t seem skittish around Jaskier’s wolf form. They ate supplies from Geralt’s pack, the food fit easily through the gaps in the muzzle and Jaskier could even lick through the bars at the fingers that fed him, a silent thank you and an apology rolled into one.

Three days later, Geralt was unbuckling the muzzle from a very human Jaskier still panting and gritting his teeth in the aftermath of the transformation. He looked down at the tightly squeezed shut eyes, tears beaded along dark lashes and, in a fit of uncharacteristic gentleness, Geralt stroked over cheeks marked by the muzzle.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier whimpered and it was the last straw. Carefully, Geralt rearranged them so Jaskier was nestled in his lap, face buried against his neck.

“We’ll find a way to break the curse,” he promised, voice barely more than a rumble. “Whatever it takes.”

Geralt didn’t anticipate the soft kiss to his cheek and Jaskier scenting his neck with small snuffles. However, he didn’t object, especially not when Jaskier shyly admitted that his scent and presence helped. Even if the pain was just as great, the steady, unwavering body to lean against soothed Jaskier more than any potion could.

“When you’re here, it hurts less,” he’d said, although logically it didn’t make sense.

Put back together again and half a skin of water downed, they were back on the road once more. While it was unnamed, they drifted closer together. There was comfort in a shared bed, Jaskier would sometimes instinctively bare his neck at Geralt or, after some time apart, there would be a moment in their reunion hug that Jaskier would scent along Geralt’s neck and rumble in pleasure.

It was the small things but they were getting more and more obvious. Each full moon, Geralt would hold Jaskier, help strip him and put the muzzle on. For three days, they would lounge in some forest until Jaskier came back to himself and the pain abated. Aside from the shifting process, they were three days where they could both relax.

Of course, things never did go easily. There was another werewolf that needed to be caught and Geralt had been the one to stumble across the contract. His morals and the code of witchers wouldn’t allow him to turn the job down but, at the same time, he didn’t want to leave Jaskier behind. There was only one solution, one that Jaskier himself brought up in the simplest of ways. A week before the full moon, he presented Geralt with a collar and leash in black leather that matched his armour perfectly.

“These, along with a muzzle, should mean everyone will be safe.”

A murmur went up in the village when Geralt appeared at the fringes, riding Roach and what was unmistakably a wolf trotting along next to him on a leash, with a muzzle over its maw. People stared and whispered to each other but Geralt ignored them, stabled Roach and walked to the inn. For a moment it looked like he and his wolf would be denied entrance but a pitiful whine and big, puppy dog eyes from the wolf softened the heart of the innkeep. With the caveat that the wolf sleeps on the floor and not the bed, they were given a room for the night and a meal each.

It was a turn of tide after that. Full moons were no longer a scheduled break and rest. Instead, Jaskier accompanied Geralt on contracts in his wolf form. There were rumours spreading about the White Wolf having a pet wolf but it wasn’t consistent when people saw them. Whenever anyone worked up the courage to ask, Geralt or Jaskier told them the wolf was in the forest, hunting. If pushed, they’d retrieve the leash and muzzle with a cruel smile.

“He’s not wearing his muzzle, don’t go into the woods.”

The threat, while empty, served as a great way to keep villagers from wandering out to watch Geralt work or even just go out because they thought they were invincible now that the witcher had arrived to deal with the monster issue. It also meant that people were willing to accommodate a witcher more.

Hunts went easier. The first time Jaskier launched himself at a drowner sneaking up on Geralt midfight, the muzzle stopped him from doing any real damage but it definitely saved Geralt an unpleasant few minutes underwater. Two days later found them adjusting the muzzle so it still looked secure to reassure humans but Jaskier could knock it off with a paw if the situation called for it. Thankfully, it wasn’t necessary, they had a good system worked out and the few times patrons got uppity about sharing space with a witcher, Jaskier raising his hackles and growling was enough to dissuade trouble.

However, sometimes trouble found them. It wasn’t even a contract but the woods around them had been far too quiet, Geralt walked with Roach’s rein in hand and Jaskier behind them. There wasn’t the usual sound of a forest alive and thriving around them. The oppressive silence had them all on edge, Geralt even pulled his steel sword out, erring on the side of caution rather than regret.

Chaos exploded around them as the kikimora rose from the bog next to the path. Roach reared and whinnied, turning to take off at a bolt. Though his sword was out, Geralt was still caught off-guard and was flat on his back, sword too slow to lift to block the kikimora’s strike. It was definitely going to hurt and Geralt braced himself for a blow that never landed. Instead, a feral growling snarl was drowned out by the kikimora’s shriek. Blinking open, Geralt got to watch as a familiar looking wolf rounded on the kikimora and with efficiency and brutality that only came from knowing the enemy, the kikimora was decimated.

Silence reigned in the woods as a guts and gore covered wolf stared at Geralt, panting, tail in a low, hopeful wag of friendliness. Nobody moved and the wolf drooped, looking sheepish. Finally, Geralt stood up, blinking and wiping filthy water from his face.

“It’s not full moon,” he said dumbly. Hell, it wasn’t even night and yet there was Jaskier in his wolf form, fully in control of himself and had just saved Geralt. Looking around, he frowned, trying to wrap his head around what had just happened. “Your clothes are ruined.”

There was no mistaking the bark for a laugh as Jaskier slinked closer, whining a little. It made Geralt roll his eyes.

“I still don’t speak wolf.”

He got to watch as Jaskier morphed back into human shape. It still looked and sounded painful but Jaskier seemed more okay with it. He was naked save for the tattered cuff of a doublet around a wrist.

“Sorry.” A strange first word to come from Jaskier’s lips and Geralt blinked.

“Are you sorry for saving me?”

The look Jaskier sent him was fond and incredulous. Sarcasm dripped heavily from his tongue, “Yes Geralt, I am so sorry for saving you and not sorry at all for not telling you that maybe I wasn’t quite as much of a monstrous werewolf as initially feared.”

There were several things to address in that sentence and Geralt had to take a moment to try and figure out where to start.Thankfully, Jaskier hated silence, especially awkwards ones and he picked up again, filling the heavy air between them.

“So I guess I owe you an explanation?” Which, yes, he did, now that Geralt thought of it. “There’s an old wives tale about the curse of lycanthropy being broken by true love. Turns out there’s more truth to it than people assume.”

Ridiculous. Geralt couldn’t believe that. And who would love Jaskier like that anyway? He spent almost all his time with Geralt and even though he fell in love with everyone he met, Geralt didn’t think people returned his unadulterated adoration.

“Why aren’t you with your true love?”

Jaskier stared at Geralt like he’d just asked where the sky was. “I am.”

Looking around, Geralt couldn’t see anyone else, couldn’t even sense another creature nearby. Which meant only one thing.

“I see.” He had no idea how else to respond to that.

“Do you?” Jaskier, shameless in his state of undress, stood up and, with great ease, plopped himself in Geralt’s lap. “Because it has to be true love. Not one sided. Not platonic. Not ‘I think I kind of like you’. But true love.”

It wasn’t anything new as such, Geralt already knew he would do anything to keep Jaskier safe and happy. Now, he had a name for the feelings. Love. It was such a foreign concept, a witcher in love with a werewolf. Except, apparently not a werewolf because true love had broken the curse.Yet it hadn’t because Jaskier could still shift. To say Geralt was confused was an understatement.

“You can still shift?” He asked instead because that he could address. Love, in words, was something that he needed a bit more time for.

“About that.” Jaskier actually looked a little sheepish. “I kind of fought the breaking of the curse. Because in wolf form I could be more useful, was less of a burden. And I cost less.”

As he spoke, Jaskier was nuzzling against Geralt’s neck, all but nipping at the skin he found there which was terribly distracting. Settling hands on Jaskier’s hips, Geralt leaned away with a questioning look.

“Bit awkward but some of the wolf traits take a little while to disappear. At least this time I don’t have ears of a tail poking out.” Jaskier almost looked embarrassed too. “Hiding those from you was stressful enough at the start.”

Which left one question on Geralt’s lips. “When did you break the curse?”

“By the time the harpy incident happened, I had been trying to master shifting on command. But it broke that first time you settled next to me after a shift and promised to kill me if I ever got out of control. But by then, I already realised I could be of use to you in wolf form so, well, I fought the release of the curse. Hurt like a bitch.”

The only response Geralt had to that was to press a kiss to the top of Jaskier’s head. Nobody had ever done anything like that for him before, risked sacrificing their humanity just to help him more. Knowing that the feeling in his chest was love definitely made it easier to lean in when Jaskier tipped his head up. Their lips met and the kiss was more nipping teeth than anything else and Jaskier was pushing until Geralt was on his back, at his mercy.

“Sorry,” Jaskier mumbled, pulling away. “Mind’s still a bit wolf-y.”

“What do you need?” It was such a simple question but Geralt could see the way Jaskier’s eyes darkened as a reply formed in his mind but was bit back at the last moment. “Tell me.”

“I want to claim you as mine.”

“Okay,” Geralt said, like it was the most simple thing on earth. He watched as Jaskier was at a loss for words, a true rarity and a pleasure Geralt rarely got to witness. There was a growl lost somewhere in Jaskier’s throat as he lunged forward, biting down on Geralt’s lower lip before kissing him, licking into his mouth. It was definitely more animalistic and less refined than the expertise and prowess Jaskier had once upon a time been so proud of. Hands pawed at Geralt’s shirt and he had to laugh. “Easy now, we’ll get there.”

“Want you now.” It was rather flattering to be so desired, especially when it was Jaskier. Geralt found it far too easy to strip, having to only deal with fervent kisses as a distraction. In a way, it was a blessing that Jaskier was already naked because at least there was no time to waste there.

Finally undressed, Geralt was urged onto his hands and knees and he would have laughed at how desperate Jaskier was, except there were fingers already pressing against his hole, testing his reaction. In a way, Geralt was thankful that at least Jaskier had that much patience.

“There’s oil in the-”

“I know. Got it already.” Jaskier showed him the small jar, already open and he had dipped two fingers in. Working Geralt open wasn’t exactly a sexy affair, the focus was much more on the practicalities rather than the sensuality of the action. Still, Geralt found himself getting hard just from hearing Jaskier panting behind him. To be so openly wanted and desired was quite the novelty and Geralt found himself a little flustered by it.

There was no time wasted, as soon as Jaskier had deemed Geralt ready, he was slicking himself up and pushing in. It was still a little too much but Geralt groaned in pleasure, dropping his head between his shoulders. The pace was rushed, Jaskier had leaned forward and was wrapped around Geralt. His arms circled Geralt’s chest, held him tight. It made the angle awkward, his thrusts short, sloppy and sharp. But the way his teeth clamped on the back of Geralt’s neck with a growl more than made up for it.

Giving thanks for his muscles, Geralt was able to balance on one arm and reach for his straining cock with the other, shivering in pleasure as he finally got some pressure and friction against it. Above him, Jaskier growled, teeth sinking into his skin but not quite breaking it. Even more surprising was the way the base of his cock thickened, stretching Geralt wider on each pass, making his hips buck without his full control.

The realisation that Jaskier had a knot was one that had Geralt breaking out in a sweat, mind swirling and body straining. He wanted it, desperately. Thoughts of being tied to Jaskier had him arching his back lower, presenting himself as though he was in heat and asking to be filled. Which, in a way, he was. He didn’t miss the way Jaskier snarled, bite moving to Geralt’s shoulder as his hips worked faster. The knot was too big now and pushed in with a final thrust before Jaskier ground deeper and came, knot locking them together. Such pressure, plus the bite and his own hand had Geralt groaning, muscles trembling as he came too.

They stayed like that for a long minute before Jaskier released his jaw and knelt up, knot pulling at Geralt.

“Oh dear.” Such a reaction had Geralt snorting, finding it incredibly endearing how Jaskier only realised their predicament now. “I thought I had all wolf traits under control.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Geralt replied, peering over his shoulder. “That was kind of hot.”

It took a few attempts but they managed to roll to their side comfortably and dozed until Jaskier’s knot went down enough to slip free, along with a small stream of come. Not that Geralt minded that in the slightest either. Instead, he sighed and closed his eyes. The woods around them were silent, wildlife slowly returning and Roach somewhere not too far, probably enjoying a more relaxed afternoon too.

From then on, it wasn’t unusual to find stories of a witcher who travelled with a wolf or a bard. Some would swear they were one and the same but had no proof. Those who could have claimed an encounter with them were only bandits and they never lived to tell the tale. Instead, songs of the White Wolf and his trusty wolf spread across the continent, sung by a bard who sometimes had too sharp teeth and eyes that shifted between blue and gold. But that could have been a trick of the light. Nobody really cared anyway, the songs were good and life without the threat of a monster was even better.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr for more short stories as @jaskiersvalley


End file.
